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On the Nature of Things
 
By Lucretius
Written 50 B.C.ETranslated by William Ellery Leonard
Book III
 
Proem
 
O thou who first uplifted in such darkSo clear a torch aloft, who first shed lightUpon the profitable ends of man,O thee I follow, glory of the Greeks,And set my footsteps squarely planted nowEven in the impress and the marks of thine-Less like one eager to dispute the palm,More as one craving out of very loveThat I may copy thee!- for how should swallowContend with swans or what compare could beIn a race between young kids with tumbling legsAnd the strong might of the horse? Our father thou,And finder-out of truth, and thou to usSuppliest a father's precepts; and from outThose scriven leaves of thine, renowned soul(Like bees that sip of all in flowery wolds),We feed upon thy golden sayings all-Golden, and ever worthiest endless life.For soon as ever thy planning thought that sprangFrom god-like mind begins its loud proclaimOf nature's courses, terrors of the brainAsunder flee, the ramparts of the worldDispart away, and through the void entireI see the movements of the universe.Rises to vision the majesty of gods,And their abodes of everlasting calmWhich neither wind may shake nor rain-cloud splash,Nor snow, congealed by sharp frosts, may harmWith its white downfall: ever, unclouded skyO'er roofs, and laughs with far-diffused light.And nature gives to them their all, nor aughtMay ever pluck their peace of mind away.But nowhere to my vision rise no moreThe vaults of Acheron, though the broad earthBars me no more from gazing down o'er allWhich under our feet is going on belowAlong the void. O, here in these affairsSome new divine delight and trembling aweTakes hold through me, that thus by power of thineNature, so plain and manifest at last,Hath been on every side laid bare to man!And since I've taught already of what sortThe seeds of all things are, and how, distinctIn divers forms, they flit of own accord,Stirred with a motion everlasting on,And in what mode things be from them create,Now, after such matters, should my verse, meseems,Make clear the nature of the mind and soul,And drive that dread of Acheron without,Headlong, which so confounds our human lifeUnto its deeps, pouring o'er all that isThe black of death, nor leaves not anythingTo prosper- a liquid and unsullied joy.For as to what men sometimes will affirm:That more than Tartarus (the realm of death)They fear diseases and a life of shame,And know the substance of the soul is blood,Or rather wind (if haply thus their whim),And so need naught of this our science, thenThou well may'st note from what's to follow nowThat more for glory do they braggart forthThan for belief. For mark these very same:Exiles from country, fugitives afarFrom sight of men, with charges foul attaint,Abased with every wretchedness, they yetLive, and where'er the wretches come, they yetMake the ancestral sacrifices there,Butcher the black sheep, and to gods belowOffer the honours, and in bitter caseTurn much more keenly to religion.Wherefore, it's surer testing of a manIn doubtful perils- mark him as he isAmid adversities; for then aloneAre the true voices conjured from his breast,The mask off-stripped, reality behind.And greed, again, and the blind lust of honoursWhich force poor wretches past the bounds of law,And, oft allies and ministers of crime,To push through nights and days of the hugest toilTo rise untrammelled to the peaks of power-These wounds of life in no mean part are kept
 
 
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Festering and open by this fright of death.For ever we see fierce Want and foul DisgraceDislodged afar from secure life and sweet,Like huddling Shapes before the doors of death.And whilst, from these, men wish to scape afar,Driven by false terror, and afar remove,With civic blood a fortune they amass,They double their riches, greedy, heapers-upOf corpse on corpse they have a cruel laughFor the sad burial of a brother-born,And hatred and fear of tables of their kin.Likewise, through this same terror, envy oftMakes them to peak because before their eyesThat man is lordly, that man gazed uponWho walks begirt with honour glorious,Whilst they in filth and darkness roll around;Some perish away for statues and a name,And oft to that degree, from fright of death,Will hate of living and beholding lightTake hold on humankind that they inflictTheir own destruction with a gloomy heart-Forgetful that this fear is font of cares,This fear the plague upon their sense of shame,And this that breaks the ties of comradryAnd oversets all reverence and faith,Mid direst slaughter. For long ere to-dayOften were traitors to country and dear parentsThrough quest to shun the realms of Acheron.For just as children tremble and fear allIn the viewless dark, so even we at timesDread in the light so many things that beNo whit more fearsome than what children feign,Shuddering, will be upon them in the dark.This terror, then, this darkness of the mind,Not sunrise with its flaring spokes of light,Nor glittering arrows of morning sun disperse,But only Nature's aspect and her law.
Nature and Composition of the Mind
 
First, then, I say, the mind which oft we callThe intellect, wherein is seated life'sCounsel and regimen, is part no lessOf man than hand and foot and eyes are partsOf one whole breathing creature. But some holdThat sense of mind is in no fixed part seated,But is of body some one vital state,-Named "harmony" by Greeks, because therebyWe live with sense, though intellect be notIn any part: as oft the body is saidTo have good health (when health, however, 's notOne part of him who has it), so they placeThe sense of mind in no fixed part of man.Mightily, diversly, meseems they err.Often the body palpable and seenSickens, while yet in some invisible partWe feel a pleasure; oft the other way,A miserable in mind feels pleasure stillThroughout his body- quite the same as whenA foot may pain without a pain in head.Besides, when these our limbs are given o'erTo gentle sleep and lies the burdened frameAt random void of sense, a something elseIs yet within us, which upon that timeBestirs itself in many a wise, receivingAll motions of joy and phantom cares of heart.Now, for to see that in man's members dwellsAlso the soul, and body ne'er is wontTo feel sensation by a "harmony"Take this in chief: the fact that life remainsOft in our limbs, when much of body's gone;Yet that same life, when particles of heat,Though few, have scattered been, and throughthe mouthAir has been given forth abroad, forthwithForever deserts the veins, and leaves the bones.Thus mayst thou know that not all particlesPerform like parts, nor in like manner allAre props of weal and safety: rather those-The seeds of wind and exhalations warm-Take care that in our members life remains.Therefore a vital heat and wind there isWithin the very body, which at deathDeserts our frames. And so, since nature of mindAnd even of soul is found to be, as 'twere,A part of man, give over "harmony"-Name to musicians brought from Helicon,-Unless themselves they filched it otherwise,To serve for what was lacking name till then.Whate'er it be, they're welcome to it- thou,Hearken my other maxims.Mind and soul,I say, are held conjoined one with other,And form one single nature of themselves;
 
 
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But chief and regnant through the frame entireIs still that counsel which we call the mind,And that cleaves seated in the midmost breast.Here leap dismay and terror; round these hauntsBe blandishments of joys; and therefore hereThe intellect, the mind. The rest of soul,Throughout the body scattered, but obeys-Moved by the nod and motion of the mind.This, for itself, sole through itself, hath thought;This for itself hath mirth, even when the thingThat moves it, moves nor soul nor body at all.And as, when head or eye in us is smitBy assailing pain, we are not tortured thenThrough all the body, so the mind aloneIs sometimes smitten, or livens with a joy,Whilst yet the soul's remainder through the limbsAnd through the frame is stirred by nothing new.But when the mind is moved by shock more fierce,We mark the whole soul suffering all at onceAlong man's members: sweats and pallors spreadOver the body, and the tongue is broken,And fails the voice away, and ring the ears,Mists blind the eyeballs, and the joints collapse,-Aye, men drop dead from terror of the mind.Hence, whoso will can readily remarkThat soul conjoined is with mind, and, when'Tis strook by influence of the mind, forthwithIn turn it hits and drives the body too.And this same argument establishethThat nature of mind and soul corporeal is:For when 'tis seen to drive the members on,To snatch from sleep the body, and to changeThe countenance, and the whole state of manTo rule and turn,- what yet could never beSans contact, and sans body contact fails-Must we not grant that mind and soul consistOf a corporeal nature?- And besidesThou markst that likewise with this body of oursSuffers the mind and with our body feels.If the dire speed of spear that cleaves the bonesAnd bares the inner thews hits not the life,Yet follows a fainting and a foul collapse,And, on the ground, dazed tumult in the mind,And whiles a wavering will to rise afoot.So nature of mind must be corporeal, sinceFrom stroke and spear corporeal 'tis in throes.Now, of what body, what components formedIs this same mind I will go on to tell.First, I aver, 'tis superfine, composedOf tiniest particles- that such the factThou canst perceive, if thou attend, from this:Nothing is seen to happen with such speedAs what the mind proposes and begins;Therefore the same bestirs itself more swiftlyThan aught whose nature's palpable to eyes.But what's so agile must of seeds consistMost round, most tiny, that they may be moved,When hit by impulse slight. So water moves,In waves along, at impulse just the least-Being create of little shapes that roll;But, contrariwise, the quality of honeyMore stable is, its liquids more inert,More tardy its flow; for all its stock of matterCleaves more together, since, indeed, 'tis madeOf atoms not so smooth, so fine, and round.For the light breeze that hovers yet can blowHigh heaps of poppy-seed away for theeDownward from off the top; but, contrariwise,A pile of stones or spiny ears of wheatIt can't at all. Thus, in so far as bodiesAre small and smooth, is their mobility;But, contrariwise, the heavier and more rough,The more immovable they prove. Now, then,Since nature of mind is movable so much,Consist it must of seeds exceeding smallAnd smooth and round. Which fact once known tothee,Good friend, will serve thee opportune in else.This also shows the nature of the same,How nice its texture, in how small a space'Twould go, if once compacted as a pellet:When death's unvexed repose gets hold on manAnd mind and soul retire, thou markest thereFrom the whole body nothing ta'en in form,Nothing in weight. Death grants ye everything,But vital sense and exhalation hot.Thus soul entire must be of smallmost seeds,Twined through the veins, the vitals, and the thews,Seeing that, when 'tis from whole body gone,The outward figuration of the limbsIs unimpaired and weight fails not a whit.Just so, when vanished the bouquet of wine,Or when an unguent's perfume delicate
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